Surely Heaven Waits For You
by AnironEndor
Summary: It's the end for the Winchester brothers. One last world-saving hunt, and then it will all be over. They knew this was going to be the end as soon as they decided to do it, but they did it anyway, because they are Winchesters, and saving people and hunting things is what they do, no matter what the personal sacrifice, and no matter what losses they have to suffer...


By the time he is on his feet, his brother's eyes are already closed.

"No-" Sam gives a strangled whisper, dropping the bloody knife clutched in his fist and rushing over to where Dean sits, slumped against the wall. His legs stick out at odd angles. His hair and rough stubble are matted and caked in blood. By the time his heart stops beating, he will have lost so much blood that his once handsome features will have slimmed to the point that they will be almost unrecognisable. When the flames consume his body in the traditional hunter's funeral, John Winchester's oldest son will look nothing like he did in life: his face will sag with dry, grey skin; his muscles will hang lose; his father's jacket will seem too large on him- almost too big to fill.

But Sam knows nothing of this. He lives only in the present. He can see only the thin film of life that his big brother desperately clings to, can think only of the blood blossoming over Dean's loose plaid shirt, of the emptiness and overwhelming confusion that is welling up inside him.

"No, no, no..." Sam murmurs, clutching at Dean's dying face, "C'mon Dean. Wake up buddy, you can do this. Just one last time, wake up, for me..."

Something deep in Dean's heart hears him, even if his ears cannot. His green eyes flicker open.

Dean can barely see his little brother. Sam's tear stained and bruised face is wildly out of focus, but Dean doesn't need to see him to know Sammy is there. There is a bond between the brothers that isn't limited only to sight. He can sense him. His soul can feel him.

"Heya Sammy," he coughs, and as he speaks blood foams at the corners of his mouth, "You ganked 'em good?"

Sam cracks a smile, tears still welling at the corners of his eyes. He tries to speak, to say something funny to make his brother laugh in his final moments, but nothing comes to mind.

"Yeah," he manages, "Yeah, I got 'em."

Dean coughs again, and this time blood dribbles down his chin and onto his already scarlet shirt, but he is smiling.

"Plan's going good then."

The question catches his younger brother by surprise. Sam blinks, and takes a moment to answer. He absent mindedly brushes away the blood from his brother's lips, looking after him with the care that it was always Dean's job to show when they were growing up together.

"Yeah. Yeah, plan's going great. Thanks to you."

In truth, he cannot even remember what the plan is, cannot bring it to his mind, even after the countless times that he went over it in preparation for the final attack. He has forgotten everything. Everything, that is, save his brother, dying, clutched in his arms.

Dean smiles. It hurts, but he doesn't show it. Dean Winchester was never one for showing pain.

"At least they'll say..." He splutters, blood redder than fire trickling from his lips.

"Say what?" Sam says, not caring about words now, but needing to keep his brother talking. His brain knows that he has to get Dean out of here, but his body won't obey. Sam Winchester's world has shrunk to a spreading patch of blood on an old plaid shirt. "What they gonna say, Dean?"

"Say I... I died a hero..." As he speaks, his eyelids begin to droop once more. "I... I made mistakes, Sammy. I messed up, so many times... But at least we did this one thing right... Together..." The end is near. He know it. So does Sam.

"No, no, Dean. You're not gonna die. Not today. You can't."

Dean smirks, happy despite the pain that he feels. They are brothers again. Just one last time. He has his brother back. It's all he ever wanted.

"Why not, Sammy? I've done it before..."  
Words fail Sam. Tears begin to pour openly down his cheeks, and sobs violently shake his broad shoulders. He lifts a finger to brush them away, and to tuck his long dark hair back behind his ear.

"I'll bring you back," He whispers, more for his own sake for his brother's, "I swear I won't rest until I've got you back..."

"No," Dean's smile vanishes, his voice finally filling with the agony of the wound on his chest, "No... Not this time... Finally... Got a chance... Getting to heaven..."

Sam's lips twist painfully at the corners.

"You've earned heaven a thousand times over."

Dean sighs a long, rattling sigh, and for a moment, neither brother says anything.

"Don't go, Dean," Sam begs, "Please..."

But Dean cannot hear him. His green eyes are nearly taking in their last sight- Sam, holding his brother in his arms, weeping.

"Get out of here, Sammy. You got some monsters to gank."

"Dean-"

"Go. Kill those evil sons of bitches and raise a little hell."

More sobs rise in Sam's chest put there by the bitter loss of old memories and a time gone past.

"Dean-"  
"Go, Sammy," and the cocky, carefree grin of a younger man has returned to its rightful place, "Don't want my heroics to be for nothing, now, do we?"

"Dean-"  
"Now, Sam, Go!"

Sam blinks, and pulls himself to his feet, finally returning to the urgency of the matter in hand. Dean is right. If he doesn't leave now, then everything was for nothing. There is too much at stake for them to loose. There will be a time for grief later.

"Goodbye Dean." He manages, taking his last ever look at the person in all the world that he loves the most.

"G'dbye, Sam."

And then Sam is gone, leaving Dean to die alone.

"Hey, Sammy?"

Sam flies back at the sound of his brother's voice, weak and gruff, but still powerful, even this close to death.

"Dean?" Sam calls, a new hope rising within him. Maybe the wound isn't all that bad. Maybe-

Dean remains where Sammy left him, still dying, still weak, and still grinning like he hasn't a worry in the world.

"I almost forgot..."  
"Forgot what, Dean?"

Dean lifts his head and stares straight at his little brother, a smug pride welling up inside him.

"Bitch," He murmurs, the old word passing through his blooded lips one last time, carried by his dying breath.

Sam laughs. A real laugh, not false, not a façade, not a fake created to pass off how bad things really were. For the first time in what seems like years, he laughs. And then he stops, struggling to choke back all the thousands of things he wanted to tell Dean. He doesn't need to say them now. He can say it all, in just one word.

Sam smiles down at what once was the body of Dean Winchester, expert hunter, amazing brother, and above all, the best of men.

"Jerk," Sam smirks, and runs off to meet his fate.

_Two Months Later._

It is late. The highway is empty, except for a single black car driving alone down the middle of the road.

Midnight came, and went, but Sam Winchester did not notice. His mind is filled with other things, but for the first time since his brother's death, he isn't grieving.

He is happy.

As he drives, he thinks of him. Dean. Of all the times they spent together, growing up. Of how he was everything to him, a brother, a mother, a father, and a friend. Of those early days, before he knew about hunting, when Dean did absolutely everything to protect him, and after, when he refused to let John pull him out of school to take him out on the hunt. Of how he was so dedicated in giving him what he wanted: a normal life.

He thinks of other things too. He thinks of the time that Dean came to get him from Stanford, and how despite everything that happened, he was overjoyed to finally be back with his brother again. He thinks of all the times they spent when they weren't hunting, playing pranks, going to baseball games, chatting up pretty girls in bars (Dean was the main culprit of that one, much to Sam's irritation.), and about how no matter what they went through, be it bereavement, demon's blood, the apocalypse, angel possession or even hell itself, they always came out of it the same way they went in: brothers.

Sam misses him. He misses him so much that it hurts, but he knows that he mustn't grieve. Dean was right. Bringing him back won't solve anything. Sam knows that Dean is safe at peace, even happy where he is. Because for the first time, he is in heaven to stay. And Sam knows that bringing him back will mean only pain. Because unlike Sam, Dean never wanted that normal life that he tried so desperately to give his little brother.

But Sam wants it now. He owes it to Dean. He owes him to be happy, because that is the thing Dean ever worked for above all else. Sammy's happiness. A regular life. Peace.

Sam smiles at the though of Dean, watching him from way above, and about Castiel, who will undboutably be with him. He will never see either of them again. But he's fine with that. He has someone else waiting for him.

***  
The '67 Chevy Impala pulls smoothly past the white-picket fencing that lines the driveway, and Sam grins, just as he does every time he stops the old car next to it. It was partly what made him so enthusiastic about buying the house- the white-picket fencing. Just like they always joked.

As he pulls the keys out of the ignition and clambers out of the driver's seat, the old cassette tape of a Black Sabbath concert stops playing automatically. Until recently, the Impala had a CD player in the place where the old cassette player used to be, but the first thing Sam did after saving the world two months ago was have the cassette player reinstalled. Anyone who goes near the car notices it, but when Sam is asked about it, he sighs and says 'It's not my car. It's on loan from my brother.' and then changes the subject. Let them wonder about him. In heaven, Dean will be laughing.

The house is dark when Sam unlocks the front door, but he isn't worried. His fiancé is out- there is a note pinned to the wall by the peg where his coat normally goes:

_Out with mates. See you tomorrow- we've got some catching up to do! I hope that you're all okay, I've been worried about you. Speak soon. Call me if you need anything. I missed you.__If you're hungry there's pie in the fridge- I wanted to eat it all but I left you some because I love you that much! xxx_

Sam's heart lifts when he reads the note- and with a smile on his face he dumps his coat and duffel bag in the hallway and goes straight to the fridge. The pie is delicious- apple and cinnamon. His fiancé never used to cook, but after discovering that she was pregnant she became obsessed with becoming as close to an outstanding cake baker as she could in the time frame of nine months. It amused Sam how determined she was that she wasn't going to be one of those moms who bought all their food straight from the store. He knew she was going to be a fantastic mother.

Wife. Kids. White fences. Apple pie. Sam Winchester has all he had ever dreamed of.

His is too tired and too happy to bother about getting ready for bed- he simply kicks off his boots, traipses up the stairs, and collapses, fully clothed on his bed, ready to sink into the blissful peace of sleep, and wake up to the indignant tones of the woman he loves, returning to his arms.

Something wet drips slowly onto the sleeping forehead of the last remaining Winchester.

Sam doesn't even have time open his eyes and see his fiancé's face one last time before the flames consume her body, and he is forced to run out of the room and down the stairs to escape the all-consuming hunger of the fire.


End file.
